In the beginning....

Last week, Emily told us that she had told a friend "our story". She had recanted how Trouper and I met and were friends for a long time before we were anything else. It was heartwarming to hear that she respects our love story so much that she tells it to people, and that we've been able to set an example for her, and maybe for her friends as well.

So, in honor of Em sharing our story, I will tell you my version, which might be different from Trouper's but honestly, mine's probably better.

I can't remember when I didn't know Trouper. He, on the other hand, can tell you the day he met me, what I was doing, who I was with and where I was. Sometime in middle school (or junior high for you Texas folks) he was there. He had long (in his eye) hair, carried a skateboard everywhere, wore vans and read Thrasher magazine. I, on the other hand, had big Texas beauty pageant hair, carried a designer purse, wore penny loafers and read Seventeen magazine. Total opposites. While some girls were enamored by the skateboarding guys "bad boy" attitudes, I simply thought they needed a haircut and some shopping in the Ralph Lauren department at Dillards.  However Trouper was different. When I talked he listened (or he appeared to listen). He didn't care if droned on for an hour about a new pair of jeans I got, or if I told him I was upset because my beloved Papa was sick and in the hospital again. He just seemed happy to be spending time with me, and never asked for anything in return. When my first boyfriend broke up with me, to go out with a much prettier older girl (who drove a Porsche no less) Trouper told me he was stupid and assured me the other girl was going to break the boy's heart and I would get a good laugh when karma visited. He always knew what to say to make me laugh. He told me about his family, about living in Georgia away from them, and I told him about my family and about wanting to live with my Grandparents. For some reason, I could tell him anything and he never judged. As the years went by, I dated his friends, he dated mine. Whenever they would break my heart, or I broke theirs, he would just listen to my stories and give his opinion. Don't get me wrong, he has never been afraid to share his opinion, even if it pissed me off but he always gave me advice and shared his opinion in a sweet and kind way.

When we were in high school, Trouper's family made the decision to leave our little West Texas town and move to Atlanta. I was devastated. Who was going to be my sounding board, who was going to go eat at Taco Villa with me every Sunday and who was going to lick my window every time he got out of my car? At the time, I was in a long term relationship with the person I thought was my soul mate (doesn't every 18 year old think they've met their soul mate?) but the news that my BFF Trouper was leaving was nothing short of devastating. We made a promise to write, to call one another and to be friends forever. And guess what, we kept that promise. He would send me poems, and include mix tapes filled with songs from the Moody Blues, The Cure, and the Black Crows. I wrote him long letters, catching him up on all the happenings around town, and always included pictures of me and our friends. We talked on the phone once in a while, but long distance was still long distance back then and cost an arm and a leg.

In the fall of 1991, my beloved Papa left us. My heart was broken but wouldn't you know it, just when I needed him, Trouper appeared. He called me and said he was about to load a Greyhound Bus and would be in Texas in two days. He was going to move in with family friends and finish high school in Texas. Suddenly, my confidant, my Taco Villa buddy and my window washer was back. Don't get me wrong, things had changed. I was still in a relationship and my boyfriend was now in college in another town and I was in college and working full time. I think (he will have to let you know this part) that Troup thought I would drop my life, my boyfriend, and be his forever. Truth be told, if he had asked, I might have done just that but life went on and he partied with his high school friends while I concentrated on school, friends and work. We still saw one another often, he would show up with Reece's Cups and a tale about some girl throwing herself at him, and I would complain about my adult problems. He was one of the first people I told I was pregnant, I remember him asking, because he had heard a rumor. I won't get into all of that but I will say he never judged, never tried to sway me or make me feel bad, just listened. He was at the hospital, with Taco Villa, the night Ryan made his entrance into this world and told me that Ryan was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen. He held my hand for hours, watching TV with me and trying to make me laugh. Shortly after that, he asked me and Ryan on an official date and we said yes. No, we didn't go to Taco Villa, but we did stop by there for ice cream on our way home. Our first kiss was a few weeks later (I initiated it, thank you very much) and he graduated the next month, and we have been together ever since. We were married December 5, 1992 in the same church where we met, in front of the same friends we had since childhood, two kids ourselves with big dreams and hopeful hearts. Emily made her entrance three years after we married and made our family complete.

Have the past 21 years been a walk in the park, no they haven't. Would I trade one second of the past 21 years, no I wouldn't.  Today, we are strong in knowing that family is truly all you have in this world. Our family includes lots of "blood relatives" but also many friends who've become family over the years. I'm so proud of what we've built, and yes, some days are better than others but at the end of those bad days, I'm just happy that Trouper took a bus to Texas, and that I finally realized that best friends make the best relationships.

Mommy Pledge

In 1914, Woodrow Wilson signed a proclamation declaring the second Sunday of May Mother's Day. The first official Mother's Day was a day for Mother's to honor their sons who had died in the first World War. I know, enough of the history lesson but one day, you might be on a radio station, trying to win tickets to Def Leopard or Journey and the winning question might be about the first Mother's Day so you're welcome.

Anyway, today's blog isn't about Mother's Day, really, it's about Moms and the type of Mom I tried to be (although I probably failed). When I was growing up, I was surrounded by wonderful Moms. First and foremost is my Grandma Dorothy, who always made sure I had a new Sunday dress, pocket money and limitless piano singalongs. My Mom, Carla, who instilled in me love and respect for friends and family, always made sure I had the best of everything and taught me strength comes from within. My Great Grandma Locke, whose visits (and chocolate pie) were the highlight of my childhood and my Aunt Glenda, who always knew (and still does) the right words to say to make me feel better. My Stepmom, Benita, who always made sure my visits were filled with fun adventures and, on the night of my senior prom, told me I was more beautiful than any princess. My Aunts, Sue, Sarah and Pansy, whose visits were filled with singing, hugs and lots of love and laughter. One funny story about my Aunt Sue, when I broke up with a boyfriend, she told me there were many more fish in the sea and just because he was a PK (Preacher's Kid) didn't make him a suitable life mate so go fix my face, put on a pretty dress and let's sing! These women shaped my life, offered unconditional love and acceptance and always made sure I I felt beautiful.

No, the path of my childhood wasn't paved by a yellow brick road and rainbows and butterflies didn't follow me wherever I went but, just in case the remainder of this blog comes off as cold, I wanted you to have a glimpse of the love I felt growing up.

I grew up in a different time. Mom's were busy, not that we aren't now but it was somehow a different busy. They were trying to prove themselves in the corporate world, juggle husbands, kids, jobs and responsibilities. This meant something, or someone in their life, had to fall through the cracks. In my Mom's world, that person was me. My sister was an extremely ill child and required long and frequent hospitalizations. My brother was the only boy, and the baby, and received endless amounts of attention. I was the oldest, and usually shuffled aside for my sick sister or baby brother. Don't get me wrong, somehow I understood this then and now but, at an early age, I pledged I would be a different kind of Mom. I vowed to attend every event, no matter how small or insignificant and always make sure my kids knew I was their biggest cheerleader. I wanted them to see my face in the crowd at every choir concert, football game, and cheerleading competition. I wanted them to see me attend open house, PTA meetings and be embarrassed because I was the room mom and always hanging around. Please don't interpret this in a hurtful way, I had someone at my events, just not parents. My Papa Dub tried to be there, especially softball and football games when I cheered. He wasn't a consistent church goer but every time I sang at church, he was in the back row, sitting with all the little kids because they knew he always had candy with him.

I like to think I accomplished my goal, and I pray my kids' childhood memories reflect my efforts to be there, supporting their activities. Did I always like basketball, no, but I can tell you the difference between a guard and a forward and still know that defense wins games. Was helping the entire class of 4th grade girls sew aprons for Pioneer Day my idea of a fabulous Thursday afternoon, nope but I did and have wonderfully happy memories of them and their "creations". Did my attendance at their 11th grade Open House make a difference in their life, probably not but maybe, just maybe, it did.

As a Mom, I have done so many things wrong and everyday, the list gets longer. However the one thing I am certain that I did right was that my children always knew they were loved and they could always count on me to be in the crowd, cheering them on. So, to Ryan and Emily, I hope I fulfilled my Mommy Pledge and I hope your childhood was filled with more happiness then sadness. Always remember you know me in a way no one else ever has or will. You've opened me to things I never knew existed and although you have a way of driving me down the road to insanity, you are the beat of my heart, the pulse in my veins and the energy in my soul. To all my Mom Friends, and to the Mother's who shaped me, Happy Mother's Day and remember being a mother is actually the highest salaried job there is, because it's paid in pure love.

A Little Melancholy

For the past few months, I've been in a constant state of melancholy (yes, an SAT word, go look it up) slightly depressed and a little gloomy. Maybe it's the winter, maybe it's the death of a dear friend, maybe it's the heartbreak I've seen my daughter suffer and the aftermath that followed. I can't put my finger on it, and certainly listening to The Civil Wars (it's a duo/band, go look it up) on Pandora isn't helping but nonetheless, I'm in a funk and I'm tired. My days are long; work is really hectic right now and when I get home, I'm forced to deal with home and all that surrounds our life. Can we buy medicine today, can we pay the electricity tomorrow, will the insurance pay this hospital bill, did Trouper check his line and bandages, are his batteries charged? I know everyone is busy, but some days it's overwhelming.

So why am I writing about my funk and bringing you down the rabbit hole with me? Because I am going to fight my way out. I'm going to chose to be happy, chose to be grateful and probably stop listening to The Civil Wars on Pandora. My dear friend, who lost her husband three short months ago said something that brought me back to reality. She reminded no matter how bad it gets, no matter how tired I am or no matter how overdrawn our bank account is, in the middle of the night, I can reach over and kiss my sweet husband. I can hold his hand, I can fight with him for the remote control and I can hear I love you spoken in a sweet, sleepy voice (this doesn't happen often, hint hint) when I'm dragging myself out of bed each morning. In short, I'm blessed. I've seen better days, but I've also seen much worse. I don't have everything I want but somehow, I have everything I need. When my alarm goes off at 5:45 am, I complain, but the fact is, I get to wake up. It's not a perfect life, but it's a blessed life.